The Reichenbach Fall Revisited
by Livlov-Nevergiveup
Summary: What if Molly wasn't involved in helping Sherlock fake his death? What if Molly had lived for two years thinking that he had successfully offed himself? This is my slight reimagining of how things might have happened. Sherlolly of course!
1. Chapter 1

**It's been years since I have uploaded something on here. After watching Sherlock on BBC I came back to read stories about Sherlock and Molly because I wanted more than what the show gave us. So here is my first attempt at a Sherlolly story as well as my first fanfiction in many many years. This wasn't edited by anyone else so I know there may be some grammar mistakes but I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It had been two years since Sherlock stepped foot in London. His mission to take down Moriarty's network had taken much longer than he had hoped. It had been two years of covert operations, constant movement, and fighting to stay alive.

While Sherlock had remained laser-focused on destroying any trace of what Jim Moriarty had left behind, he found that it was nearly impossible to keep his mind from wandering to the people he had left behind in London.

There were a few times Mycroft was able to send intelligence to Sherlock during his mission concerning his 'Goldfish', as Mycroft so kindly referred to them. It wasn't much information, maybe a paragraph on their overall well-being and their recent happenings. However, it was enough to reassure Sherlock that the people he was protecting were living on despite his absence.

Greg Lestrade had suffered a setback in his career after the Richard Brook scandal and Sherlock's subsequent suicide. Many of Lestrade's cases that Sherlock had been a part of were brought under scrutiny and questioned. It took many months but eventually the DI was cleared of any wrongdoing. Later, when it was revealed that Richard Brook was in fact a character of Jim Moriarty's own making and Sherlock's reputation was restored, Greg Lestrade's standing was also reestablished.

Sherlock felt a small sort of affection for the detective inspector whose belief in him never truly faltered despite Sherlock's entire life story coming into question.

Mrs. Hudson was of course devastated by the events that had taken place that fateful day. Sherlock knew the landlady thought of him as the son she never had. Based on Mycroft's intelligence, Mrs. Hudson seemed to be keeping his Baker Street apartment clean and tidy, as if she knew he would be back someday. Sherlock deduced that it was more likely that Mrs. Hudson cleaned his apartment as part of her routine than a hope that Sherlock was still alive.

Either way, it gave Sherlock a sense of comfort that Mrs. Hudson would most likely welcome him home with open arms and cup of hot tea when it was time for him to return.

Strangely enough, John Watson's well-being was the one Sherlock was least concerned about. Of course he was worried for John's physical safety, as he was for the others. As for John's emotional well-being, Sherlock was unconcerned, because John Watson already knew that Sherlock was alive.

* * *

**_The Day of the Fall_**

John Watson was in shock. He had watched Sherlock jump off of the roof of St. Barts. He had seen the blood on his best friend's face. He had felt Sherlock's wrist and found no pulse. John had watched it all happen with his own eyes, but he still couldn't believe it. Sherlock was dead.

John kept replaying the conversation Sherlock and him had had before he jumped.

"_It's a trick, it's just a magic trick."_

"_I researched you." _

No matter what Sherlock said, John couldn't believe that it had all been a lie. All of the cases, the deductions. It had to have been real.

"Dr. Watson." A voice called. John lifted his head. He found Mycroft peering at him. John found the resemblance between Mycroft and Sherlock painful. As much as Sherlock would hate to admit it, Mycroft and Sherlock were similar in so many ways. The piercing eyes. The ability to deduce someone's intentions just by looking at them.

"John, they're taking Sherlock to the morgue. I need you to come with me." Mycroft said quietly. John found himself slowly getting up from the waiting room chair and following Mycroft. They brought Sherlock into the emergency room in an attempt to revive him. John knew that the odds of someone coming back from that kind of fall were abysmally low.

As they made their way to the morgue, John glanced at Mycroft sadly. He had lost a brother today too. Mycroft's face was a blank slate. It was impossible to read how he was feeling.

There seemed to be a commotion the closer they got to the morgue. A loud, hysterical voice was ringing through the hallways.

"I need to see him."

As John and Mycroft rounded the corner, they found Molly Hooper squaring off with two men in black suits and Mike Stamford. They seemed to be blocking her from getting down the hallway to the entrance of the morgue.

"Molly, I'm sorry. You cannot perform his autopsy. You were too close to him. Please, I urge you to go home for the day." Mike pleaded softly. Molly let out a cry of frustration.

"You can't be serious. All over the hospital people are saying that Sherlock threw himself off the roof and killed himself. It doesn't matter what they are saying about him on TV, he wouldn't do that. If that really is his body in there, I need to see if for myself!" Molly shouted. John could tell the pathologist was on the verge of tears. Mycroft and John and came up behind Molly without her noticing.

"Molly," John murmured, "Molly it's true."

The agitated pathologist spun around quickly at his voice. She barely spared a glance for Mycroft before turning her full attention to John.

"What do you mean?" Molly whispered calmly. John found that it was hard to look her in the eyes. He knew that Molly had always had romantic feelings for Sherlock and that Sherlock had never given her the time of day. Despite his apparent disinterest, Molly's affection for Sherlock never seemed to wane as she continued to cancel her dates to be his assistant and cater to his every whim.

"Molly, I watched him jump off the roof. I saw his body on ground. I felt that he didn't have a pulse." John started to choke up at this point. "He-He's dead Molly." Tears ran down John's face as he watched the sweet pathologist's face crumble under the impact of his words. She started shaking her head.

"He can't be dead. Please, he can't be." Molly looked beseechingly at John, begging for it not to be true. Her shoulders slumped down and she seemed to be struggling to catch her breath.

"I assure you Doctor Hooper, it is true. My brother is dead. I saw the CCTV footage it myself." Mycroft said coldly. "Now if you could please excuse us, I need to see my brother's body. Only family and close friends will be allowed to see him at this time."

Molly took a step back like Mycroft's words were a physical blow. Her eyes were wide and she began to tremble.

"Gentlemen, ensure that no one makes their way into the morgue without my direct approval." Mycroft instructed the two men. "And order a car to take Doctor Hooper back to her home."

Mycroft walked past Molly's small form indifferently towards the entrance of the morgue. John stood silently for a moment and watched Molly Hooper's heart break. Her head fell into her hands and she began to sob as the reality of the situation finally set in. The man she cared for so dearly was dead.

John wanted to stand up for Molly and say that she deserved to see Sherlock's body too. However, he worried that Mycroft might not let him see Sherlock if he were to go against him. John's own selfish desire to see his best friend one last time outweighed his concern for his friend Molly. John gently placed a hand on Molly's shoulder before following Mycroft to the entrance.

John could hear Molly's sobs getting quieter as one of Mycroft's men led her out of the hallway. John turned his attention to the door to the morgue. He couldn't grasp the fact that he was about to see Sherlock's dead body. He felt like this had been a terrible nightmare and that he was about to wake in Baker street to Sherlock playing his violin.

Mike led Mycroft and John into the morgue.

John's breathing became shallow as he spotted a body under a white sheet on the examination table. He heard Mike Stamford lock the door before making his way over to the body. John wanted to tell him to wait a moment before he uncovered it. He wanted to prepare himself. Before he could get the words out Mike pulled back the sheet.

John's feet moved toward the body on their own as if possessed. He leaned over to look at Sherlock's face and quickly reared back.

"What the hell?" Yelled John. Though the body on the slab had a remarkable resemblance to Sherlock, it was not him. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

John looked to Mike Stamford who was still standing beside the examination table. He then looked to Mycroft who looked very calm about the fact that this man was not his dead brother. Before either of them could answer, a door to one of the offices in the morgue opened up behind John.

"I'm sorry." A deep voice said behind him. John's back straightened instantly at the voice. He turned to find the source of the voice to make sure he wasn't hearing things. There, in the office doorway, stood Sherlock Holmes. The side of his head was covered in blood as was his Belstaff. But he was alive.

John fell to his knees with overwhelming relief. No less than two hours ago he had watched Sherlock jump off the roof of the hospital with his own eyes, but John still held out hope that he had missed something.

John regained his strength and stood up to look at Sherlock.

"It's a trick, just a magic trick," John muttered, "you complete and utter arsehole." Before he could stop himself, John grabbed Sherlock into a tight hug. John knew that he would be angry at Sherlock later for what he had just put him through, but nothing could compete with the joy John felt knowing that he hadn't lost his best friend.

Sherlock awkwardly returned the hug and patted John on the back before John slowly released him. John had tears shining in his eyes.

"Oh my God. I can't believe you're alive." John breathed. He turned to look at the body on the slab and then back to Sherlock. "I don't understand."

"Moriarty had a sniper aimed at you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock explained. "He threatened to kill you unless I jumped off the roof and killed myself. I thought I would be able to outmaneuver him but I hadn't anticipated just how far Moriarty was willing to go to carry out his plan. He shot himself in the head in front of me. In order to keep you and the others safe I instead had to carry out an alternate plan which involved me jumping off the roof. I can explain the details to you another time but the important thing is that I am alive and that you and the others no longer have a sniper pointed at you."

John shook his head as he tried to process all of the information being given to him. He glanced at the other men in the room and it appeared that they were unsurprised by the information that was said.

"So-so Moriarty is dead? Are you sure the others are safe-"

"Yes and no. I know that Moriarty is dead. I know that the snipers are no longer actively trained on you. However, the threat is not over. Moriarty was just one part of a large network. If I were to reveal myself now you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson would all be in danger. No one can know I'm alive John. Not until it's safe." Sherlock stared at his friend intensely.

John looked at Sherlock and could see how much he had changed in the short time he had known him. The man who claimed to be high-functioning sociopath had thrown himself off the roof of a building to protect his friends. No matter what Sherlock said, he cared for the people around him more than he himself could possibly understand.

"Your secret is safe with me." John promised. Sherlock gave him a small smile then. He knew he could trust John with the knowledge he was alive.

"How long does it have to be a secret?" John asked, "The others think you killed yourself Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson and Greg are going to be devastated, Molly is already beside herself-"

"Stop." Sherlock commanded. For the first time since the conversation began a few minutes before, John saw a flash of pain on Sherlock's face.

Mycroft had been quietly watching the exchange between the two of them from across the morgue. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden show of emotion on Sherlock's part. Mycroft had already concluded that the pathologist was of more importance to his brother then he let on. After all, he refused to work with anyone else in the hospital. However, seeing Sherlock's reaction to hearing Dr. Hooper's name told Mycroft how much sentiment Sherlock harbored for the young woman.

Sherlock quickly arranged his features into a blank mask.

"No one else can know." Sherlock said with a sense of finality. John stared at Sherlock and finally nodded. Watching his friends mourn Sherlock was going to be the hardest thing he ever had to do. John hoped that the danger would pass quickly.

"Brother-mine, we really must be going. There are things that must be done." Mycroft interjected. Sherlock gave a nod of agreement.

"I need a moment with John."

Mycroft gave a slight bow and walked out of the hallway. Mike Stamford followed quietly behind. John and Sherlock continued to stand in silence for a moment.

"John-," Sherlock murmured, "I shouldn't have told you that I am alive." John tried to interrupt but Sherlock held up his hand.

"But I needed you to know that I was okay."

John smiled at Sherlock's small display of sentiment.

"I also need you to take care of the others. I need you to play your part of the heartbroken friend to protect them."

"Of course, Sherlock." John couldn't help but think of how much pain he had been in only ten minutes ago when he thought Sherlock was gone. He didn't know how he was going to take care of the others but he was going to do his best.

Sherlock surprised John and stepped forward to give him a brief, stiff hug.

"I'll see you again John." Sherlock promised.

* * *

_**Two Years Later**_

Sherlock hadn't spoken to John directly in two years. Mycroft had taken on the responsibility of letting Dr. Watson know every so often that Sherlock was still alive. Since the fall, John met a woman named Mary and moved in with her. It disappointed Sherlock that John would not be at Baker Street when he returned, but he supposed John needed a way to keep himself occupied in his absence.

The last person Sherlock received updates on was Molly Hooper.

When everything was going to hell and the police were after him, Sherlock briefly toyed with the idea of asking Molly to help him execute his plan. He knew based on their previous interactions that she would not deny him. He knew that she cared for him just as much, if not more than John Watson. He knew that he could trust her to keep his secrets.

Yet somehow, Molly Hooper had escaped James Moriarty's notice. She didn't have a sniper aimed at her. Moriarty didn't think that she was important enough to Sherlock to threaten her. Moriarty was wrong. Sherlock didn't want to involve Molly in his plan when she was already hidden in the shadows. Asking for her help would make her a target.

The day before the fall, Molly had recognized that something was off with Sherlock. Besides Mycroft, no one had been able to deduce him so accurately. The only thing Molly was wrong about was thinking that she didn't count to Sherlock. He had been unable to hide his surprise at Molly's statement. She was the only person he would work with in the hospital, she was one of the very few people he had apologized to in his life, she was one of the very few people that he chose to spend time with. How could she think she didn't count?

To avoid putting Molly in danger, Sherlock had enlisted the help of Mike Stamford to execute his plan. He did not trust Stamford as much as Molly, but with Mycroft's help and reassurance that Stamford's job would in no way be in jeopardy, he had agreed to the plan. Sherlock knew that there was still some risk to Mike by involving him, but Sherlock would rather Mike be in danger than Molly.

The day of the fall was when Sherlock realized the depth of his feelings for Molly Hooper. Sherlock had been wheeled into the hospital and was immediately taken down to the morgue on a stretcher. Mike Stamford met him there and began preparing the look-alike body for autopsy. Mycroft's men were already in place outside the morgue to stop anyone from trying to see his body. By now, the news of his suicide would have reached most of the staff in the hospital.

Sherlock paced quietly as he waited for Mycroft to appear with Dr. Watson. His thoughts raced with all of the things that needed to be done to begin dismantling the criminal network Moriarty had built. Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when he heard shouts from outside the morgue.

"Stay here, I'll go check it out." Stamford instructed. He exited the door, locking it behind him. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the unnecessary command. He listened closely to try and figure out who was out in the hall.

"Let me see him Mike." A voice screamed. Sherlock found that there was a tightness in his chest. The voice was Molly. Sherlock had never heard her yell before. Even when Molly was upset at him for being rude she never raised her voice at him. He couldn't hear everything that was being said but he could hear Molly's pleas to see his body.

Sherlock was overcome with the sudden need to comfort his pathologist.

"I need to see him!" Sherlock could hear the desperation in Molly's voice. He inhaled sharply before making his way to one of the offices in the morgue and shutting himself inside, effectively blocking out any sound coming from the hallway. Hearing Molly's anguish over his death was more disturbing than he thought possible.

All Sherlock wanted was to protect her from the dangers surrounding him. As long as his enemies thought that Molly didn't matter to him, she was safe. It was starting to dawn on Sherlock, however, that Molly might think she never mattered to him. He never got the chance to correct her on the idea that she doesn't count.

Regret flooded through Sherlock over how he treated Molly Hooper. From the first moment he met Molly, Sherlock discovered that it was remarkably easy to flirt with the pathologist and convince her to help him. A well placed compliment, an intense gaze and Molly would blush and stammer before agreeing to whatever he wanted. He would be lying if he said it didn't feel good to have someone as intelligent as Molly fawning over him.

However, it was a mystery to Sherlock why Molly Hooper continued to want him even when he was being himself around her. He was rude, abrasive, impatient, and selfish. He said and did things to Molly that were, John informed him, 'a bit not good'. Yet Molly's affection for him never faltered. She continued to bring him coffee, help him with experiments, and be patient with his demands. She was always kind, loyal, and optimistic. Molly was everything that Sherlock was not.

Sherlock's vision began to blur as he waited in the office morgue. He was disturbed but not surprised to find himself tearing up while thinking about his pathologist. Molly didn't deserve the pain of his 'death'. But Sherlock refused to make her a target. The thought of one of Moriarty's network harming her was enough to keep him from running out of the morgue to assure her that he was fine.

Sherlock wiped away at his eyes attempting to erase all evidence of sentiment. If he was ever going to have the chance of informing his pathologist that she mattered to him, he would need to focus on the mission ahead.

* * *

The intelligence Sherlock received on Molly Hooper over the years was never enough.

Molly had returned to work a month after his death. Many of the autopsies she performed while working with Sherlock were scrutinized but no discrepancies were found in her work. Molly had published multiple research papers in his absence and she began teaching a class on forensic pathology at a university.

While the small amount of information he had been given about Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson were enough to reassure him that they were okay, the same could not be said for Molly Hooper. The small paragraphs of information Sherlock received on Dr. Hooper were maddening. It was never enough.

Sherlock wanted to know more. He wanted to know what jumpers Molly was wearing to work. He wanted to know what lessons she was teaching in her class. He wanted to know which way she was parting her hair nowadays. He wanted to know if she was happy and if she still thought about him. Sherlock wanted to know if Molly finally found a man to date who was neither a sociopath nor a psychopath. He wanted to know everything.

Sherlock was unsure what to make of how desperate he was to know the mundane details of Molly Hooper's life. It was only after Mycroft had brought him back to London that Sherlock admitted to himself that his feelings for Molly were different than his feelings for his other friends. Molly was a variable in his life. Before the fall, Sherlock had not given much thought to Molly Hooper. She became a constant in his life without him ever realizing it. Now, it felt like she was all Sherlock could think about.

Sherlock wasn't sure what he would to say to Molly or how she would react to his resurrection. All he knew was that he could not live another day without Molly knowing that she is one of the few people in the world that count. With that thought, Sherlock ruffled his hair slightly before making his way into St. Barts to see his pathologist.

* * *

**Aaahh that was so fun to write. We'll get to see Molly's reaction in the next chapter. Thank you for reading and I'll post the next chapter soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I definitely did not post this second chapter as soon as I intended. Whoops! Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter of this story. Hopefully you like this chapter as well. Let's see miss Molly's reaction!**

* * *

Molly Hooper rubbed her left shoulder as she made her way to the St. Barts women's locker room. Multiple autopsies this week and never ending paperwork had begun to take a physical toll on the hard-working pathologist. As Molly walked the familiar path through the hospital, she thought longingly of the bubble bath and the glass of wine she planned on having when she reached her flat.

Molly reached the door of the locker room and pushed through. She began absentmindedly humming a tune she had heard on the radio, opening her locker carelessly. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw movement in her locker mirror. Her heart immediately jolted, she instinctually whipped around to make sense of what she had just seen.

Molly gasped and grabbed her chest. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. There, right before her eyes, standing in his signature Belstaff coat, was a ghost.

"Sherlock?" Molly whispered. Her breathing became labored as she studied the impossible sight in front of her. He looked almost exactly has he did in Molly's dreams. The dark, unruly hair. The pale, angled face. The piercing blue eyes. It was always the intensity of his eyes that made it difficult for her to speak coherently in his presence.

"Hello Molly."

Molly inhaled sharply at the sound of his voice. Her eyes had started to water. The last two years, Molly had made a concerted effort to not look at pictures of Sherlock or watch recordings of him. She had not seen him or heard his voice for a very long time. Molly realized now that the Sherlock that haunted her dreams did not do the real Sherlock justice. He was more handsome than she remembered.

Molly found herself slowly stepping towards Sherlock. She feared that if she moved too quickly the ghost in front of her would disappear. Tears ran down her face as her mind raced to make sense of the situation. Molly stopped within arm's length of the dead man. She reached her hand up and gently caressed Sherlock's cheek. She needed to touch him and make sure the he was real. Molly needed to know that he wasn't just a beautiful hallucination.

* * *

Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes hadn't left the pathologist's face since the moment she entered the locker room. He felt utterly spellbound seeing Molly in person for the first time in two years. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. As she slowly stepped toward him and put her hand on his cheek, Sherlock stopped breathing.

He felt a deep, inexplicable urge to grab Molly and hold her. He wanted to gather her to him and bury his face in hair. The flood of emotions he felt seeing his pathologist was drowning him. Relief, longing, joy, despair. The feelings were paralyzing. He had never felt this overwhelmed by the mere presence of someone.

Molly's thumb stroked Sherlock's face once more before she pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her stomach. Sherlock felt tingling where Molly's hand had been previously. He missed the contact.

Sherlock continued to stare at the woman in front of him. He could see that Molly's expression was slowly changing from astonishment to confusion. Her arms were crossed protectively in front of her. She seemed to be steeling herself for the conversation that was about to take place. The time for explanations had come.

Molly looked at the ground and began to shake her head from side to side.

"You're alive. How- how are you alive?" She asked quietly.

"Moriarty-"Molly's head snapped up at the name, "He was up on the rooftop with me two years ago. He had snipers pointed at John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. He threatened them. He said that if I didn't jump off the roof then they would each be eliminated."

Sherlock paused as Molly absorbed the information.

"And?" Molly prompted.

"I jumped."

Molly spun around suddenly startling Sherlock. Her back was to him as she paced away before turning back around. It seemed that she needed to put space between them. Sherlock hated the sudden increased physical distance.

"I know that you jumped Sherlock." Molly's voice was still quiet, but now there was a steel edge to it. "I know that you jumped because John told me he saw you jump. He also told me that he saw you laying on the ground bleeding. He said that you didn't have a pulse. So I am asking again, how the fuck are you alive?"

Sherlock felt uneasy as he watched the small pathologist. She no longer had her arms crossed over her stomach, her fists were now clenched at her sides, as if ready for a fight. Angry Molly is not someone he had encountered before. It reminded him of two years ago when she was outside of the morgue demanding to see his body. If he were not so anxious about Molly's reaction, he would be quite fascinated by this new side of her.

"John did see me jump off the roof. He also saw me laying on the ground with blood on me and he was unable to find a pulse. However, it was all an illusion."

Sherlock quickly detailed how he predicted that he may have to jump off the roof of St. Bart's and how it became the only viable option after Moriarty killed himself. He explained that he had enlisted the help of Mycroft and his own homeless network to shut down the few blocks around St. Barts and have an inflatable cushion ready on the street for him to land on. Sherlock described the sequence of events after he jumped off the roof all the way until he was wheeled into the morgue.

Sherlock stopped abruptly at that point in the story. He didn't want to admit that he had let John or Mike Stamford in on the secret. He also did not want to admit that he had heard Molly's desperate pleas to see his body. But Molly was far too intelligent to miss the implications of his tale.

She took a minute to process the information Sherlock had given her. Molly replayed every moment of that horrible day from her perspective and tried to understand how Sherlock's version of events fit into everything.

* * *

Molly recalled that she had been in the cafeteria when she had first overheard that Sherlock Holmes had jumped off the roof of the hospital building and killed himself. She could not remember who she had first heard it from. One second she was enjoying a quick cuppa, the next everyone in the vicinity was talking about the famous fraudulent detective who had just offed himself on the hospital campus.

Molly immediately texted Sherlock's phone asking where he was. She knew that he rarely answered phone calls and that he would never answer a phone call from her unless they were in the middle of a case. As the minutes passed by and no answer came, she began to panic. Molly thought of her last encounter with Sherlock. Something about him had been off. She had even confronted him about it. She had told him that if he needed anything, he could have her.

Molly wanted to believe that Sherlock would never kill himself. It didn't matter that the police and the news were calling him a fake. Sherlock never cared what they thought before, why would he care now?

Yet, Molly could not deny that Sherlock had not been himself that morning.

She had to find out if what everyone was saying was true. She ran out of the cafeteria to one of the medical floors close by. She quickly logged on to a computer and searched for Sherlock's name in the system. Her search yielded one result.

It showed that one William Sherlock Scott Holmes had just been transferred down to the morgue.

Molly froze. It couldn't be true.

She quickly logged out of the computer and started walking toward the morgue at a rapid pace. Her walking turned to jogging. The journey to the morgue had never felt so long. As she turned the corner to the morgue she halted. Two men in suits were blocking the way.

Molly recalled her frantic pleas to see Sherlock's body. She recalled Mike Stamford walking out of the morgue and trying to calm her. She remembered him saying that she couldn't be there, that she was too close to Sherlock.

Then Mycroft Holmes and John Watson appeared. John told her that everything she had heard was true. He told her that he had seen everything. He had seen Sherlock jump. After that moment, everything was a blur. Mycroft dismissed her and had one of his men escort her out of the hospital. She vaguely recalled looking back and seeing Mycroft, John and Mike all entering the morgue to see Sherlock's dead body.

Except…he wasn't dead.

* * *

Molly took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She opened them again and gazed at Sherlock. He stood still as a statue, waiting for her reaction. His face was a blank mask.

Molly had again crossed her arms in front of her as she prepared to speak. The look on her face reminded Sherlock of that horrible Christmas when he had cruelly deduced her and failed to realize that he was the object of Molly's affections. The look was one of hurt and anguish.

"To carry out your plan, you would have needed more help than just Mycroft. You would have needed someone in the morgue to help you find the body that looked like you." Molly paused for a moment before continuing. "I read your autopsy. When I returned to work after- after everything, I went through the files and read your autopsy. You would have needed someone to fake the report and make it look credible. Who else helped you?"

Sherlock could tell that Molly had already deduced who else had helped him. But she needed him to confirm it.

"Mike Stamford." Sherlock admitted quietly. Molly inhaled sharply at the name.

"Mike Stamford." She whispered quietly. Molly was silent for a full minute. She stared intently at Sherlock the whole time. Sherlock was reminded of the morning of the fall when she had deduced that he was sad. He felt as though he was again under Molly Hooper's microscope.

Molly began walking towards him again. Sherlock was unsure of what was going through the pathologist's mind. His own mind was clouded with apprehension. Molly stopped a foot away.

"When your life was on the line, when you needed someone who you could trust from the morgue to help you, your first thought was Mike Stamford?"

Her voice broke at the end of the sentence. The tears that had previously ceased were beginning to run down Molly's face again. Her shoulders were beginning to shake from repressed sobs.

Sherlock felt gutted. He didn't have to be a genius detective to see that he had once again caused Molly Hooper immense pain. He wanted to comfort her in some way. The only way he knew how was to make her understand.

"No Molly." Sherlock murmured. "My first thought was you."

Sherlock could no longer stop himself from touching his pathologist. He stepped forward and gently placed his hands on her face. He tilted her face up to his. It was the most intimate position he had ever been in with Molly. His whole body felt like it was on fire. He was struck by the fact that despite her tears and reddened eyes, she was lovely.

"I trust you more than anyone. I knew that you would help me if I asked."

Sherlock brushed away her tears and continued to stare intently at Molly's face.

"Then why didn't you ask me?" Molly cried.

"I didn't want you to be in danger. Somehow, you slipped past Moriarty's notice. He didn't think you were worth threatening. If I had asked for your help- if I had involved you in the plan, it would have put a target on your back. It was better this way."

"Better?" Molly stepped back from Sherlock's hands. "You thought it was _better_ for me to think that you killed yourself? You think it was _better_ for me to be kept in the dark and to mourn you?"

By the end of the sentence Molly was yelling. She was shaking with fury.

All of the nights Molly had spent crying for the man in front of her, all of the times she had blamed herself for not seeing that Sherlock was suicidal, all of the times she had wished that she could go to sleep and not wake up so that she wouldn't have to live in a world where Sherlock didn't exist, it was all for nothing.

"Molly-"Sherlock pleaded. He took a step towards her.

"No." Molly put her hand up to stop him. She couldn't bear to hear anymore. She began to storm out of the locker room but stopped just before the door. As she turned to face Sherlock, his expression was more open than she had ever seen it. He looked tormented. Molly had never seen him look that way. For a moment she felt the familiar urge to forgive him for the hurt he had caused her.

But this wasn't a small insult or humiliation that Molly could just forgive and forget.

"Just tell me one more thing." Molly said. "John went into the morgue that day- did he know that you were alive too?"

Sherlock hesitated.

"After he entered the morgue, I revealed myself to him. I made it clear that he wasn't to tell anyone the truth."

Molly nodded. She thought back to Sherlock's funeral. She had been a sobbing mess. John held her and comforted her. He had lied to her as well.

"Molly," Sherlock's voice brought her back to the present "I need you to understand,"

"Just stop Sherlock." Molly said. "I can't- I can't look at you right now."

Molly felt numb as she turned and walked out of the door. It was too much to process. It was all too much.

Sherlock listened as her footsteps faded away. He felt a painful ache in his chest. He had the realization in that moment that his feelings for Molly Hooper weren't just different than anything he felt for the other members of his small circle, they were deeper. So much deeper. Now that Sherlock had been reunited with Molly for a few minutes, he was desperate for more time. He needed to make her understand. He needed her forgiveness. He needed her.

* * *

**Sad Sherlock :/ Let me know what you think of this chapter! I know where I am going with the story now so hopefully I can upload the next chapter quicker than seven months later. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Good news! It didn't take me 8 months to update the story this time. This is going to be a shorter chapter as we get a little more insight into Molly's feelings about the whole ordeal. Thank you so much to everyone who has read my story! I want to give a quick shoutout and reply to everyone who has left a review as well.**

**Comp1mom- Thank you for reading and reviewing! I will try and finish it as soon as I can and be more consistent with updating!**

**Titi- Thank you! I am glad you love the story and I hope you like this chapter as well!**

**MizJoely- I know poor Molly :( I felt like she would have been just as hurt and betrayed as John was when he was in her position. Thank you continuing to read and review!**

**Novelteas74- Thank you for reading it! I definitely plan on continuing the story and finishing it!**

**Inevitable Farewell- I'm sorry it took forever to post last time but hopefully I will just keep improving my update times! And now we have two Molly POV chapters!**

**IaraEdelstein- Thank you for waiting and I hope you are still reading!**

**Simplyshelbs16- I hope you liked the reunion chapter! There will be another one in the near future!**

**Kaoruca- I am sorry I haven't been updating very quickly but thank you for the review and I hope you are still reading!**

**Wanderingsoprano- Thank you so much for reading! It warms my heart that you enjoy my writing and I hope that that you like the rest of the story!**

**Thank you so much everyone who is reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

"_Hey Molly, its John. I-_"he took a deep, unsteady breath before continuing - "_I don't even know where to begin. I can't imagine how you are feeling right now or what you must think of me_." Another long pause ensued. "_Just know that Sherlock, and me, were trying to protect you. If I felt like there was any other way, if I could have told you without endangering you or Sherlock, please believe me Molly, I would have in a heartbeat._" A defeated sigh could be heard. "_I'll try reaching you again tomorrow. Goodbye_."

Molly pulled the phone down from her ear and deleted John's voicemail. He had tried phoning her several times since yesterday. She had let all of the calls go unanswered.

An exhausted Molly rose from the couch and listlessly tossed her phone on the side table. There was no one that she wanted to talk to today and nothing online that she had any desire to read.

* * *

When Molly awoke that morning, she had a few glorious moments of sleepy ignorance. She got out of bed and stretched a bit before making her way to the loo. She turned on the light and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Molly did a double-take at her appearance. She looked awful. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair resembled a rat's nest. Did she not brush it last night?

Molly continued to stare at her reflection. As she examined herself, a deep feeling of dread began to grow in her stomach. Her groggy mind tried to make sense of the feeling. Something had happened. Something shocking and unpleasant-

The pathologist inhaled sharply. Her breathing quickened as the memories from the previous day assaulted her. Sherlock Holmes, alive and well, risen from the dead in the Bart's women's locker room of all places. _God, did that really happen? Have I finally cracked?_

Molly placed both of her palms flat against the countertop to steady herself. The intense feelings of betrayal and hurt that had manifested yesterday after Sherlock's reveal were resurfacing. Feelings that also extended to a certain sidekick physician named John Watson.

Both of them had to have known how Sherlock's supposed suicide would affect her. Even if Sherlock himself had not seen her in person afterward, he had to have known that it would destroy her. Molly's feelings for the detective were a secret to no one, especially following the infamous Christmas party.

Yet they had all left her in the dark. Sherlock, John Watson, Mike Stamford, bloody Mycroft Holmes. They had all let her mourn in vain because, according to Sherlock, it was safer that way.

_"I didn't want you to be in danger"_

Sherlock's words echoed in her head. His sincerity as he told his story and pleaded with her gave Molly pause. She brought her hand to her cheek where Sherlock had cradled her face. It was a surreal memory. Two years ago, Molly would have donated one of her organs to have Sherlock Holmes hold her and look at her the way he had yesterday. She had never seen him so vulnerable and open. _Was it all a manipulation? Did he want Molly to forgive him so he could have his own personal pathologist back in his pocket? Or did he actually care that he had caused her pain?_

Molly shook her head. It was too early to try and analyze Sherlock Holmes' intentions. In fact, Molly decided right then and there that she would spend the rest of the day stuffing her face with takeout, watching trash television, and avoiding thinking about anything related to Sherlock Holmes. Was it the healthiest way to process things? Probably not. But it was the route she was choosing to take.

Molly finished her morning routine in the loo and made her way to the sofa. She found her cat Toby sprawled on one of the cushions. She gently stroked his fur. He lifted his head and purred in response before resuming his rest.

"Your life is so hard my sweet boy." Molly cooed.

She plopped onto the sofa next to Toby and turned on the television.

"_Breaking news this morning, we have now confirmed that the Sherlock Holmes, the wildly popular 'hat' detective who seemingly committed suicide two years ago, has in fact, faked his death. It was only a short time ago that he was cleared of all wrong-doing in the kidnapping case-" _

The television shut off abruptly. Molly let out a irritated huff. It seemed as though Sherlock was everywhere without even trying.

* * *

Despite the fact that Molly's abysmal attempts at not thinking about Sherlock had failed (she had been failing at that for years), the rest of her day was going as scheduled. She spent the morning lounging around with Toby while switching between various baking show competitions. There was nothing more mindlessly distracting to Molly than a contestant having a meltdown over their ice cream dish.

As the hours wore on Molly's stomach began to rumble. In her quest to not think about a certain someone she had forgotten the most important plan of the day, ordering takeout. She groaned at the thought of leaving the apartment to pick up food. She didn't feel that she was mentally prepared to socialize with people today.

Molly considered the lazier option of ordering takeout to be delivered. But she quickly dismissed the thought. She couldn't avoid the world forever. She refused to revert back to the person she was immediately following Sherlock's 'death'.

Molly cringed thinking about the few weeks after the consulting detective jumped. During that period, she could barely find the strength to leave her apartment except for Sherlock's funeral. She had ordered more takeout meals then she cared to remember. She showered only when she began to smell herself. But mostly she stayed in bed and slept.

When she slept she dreamt of Sherlock. His face, the cadence of his voice when he made a long deduction, his eyes lighting up when a particularly interesting case fell into his lap. Her dreams were the only place that she felt safe. Then, once she woke up, the dream would end and Molly would be hit with the reality that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

She teared up just thinking of the despair she felt every time she woke up and realized that she would never see him again. It was like waking up into your worst nightmare.

Molly sighed. Although the revelation of learning that Sherlock is alive inspired a lot of feelings of resentment and hurt, she couldn't deny the crushing relief that she felt as well.

Sherlock was _alive_. It was a dream come true. It was something that she had wished for for two years. He was breathing and he had been there right in front of her. He had stared at her with those perfect blue eyes and he had said her name. The man that she had mourned for two years was alive and well.

Molly was still beyond furious with detective, yet she was overjoyed that he was alive and safe. Only Sherlock could elicit two such strong, conflicting emotions from her.

Her stomach rumbled again to remind Molly that there was a task at hand. She decided to pause her musings for the moment and pick up some food. She quickly changed out of the pajamas she had worn all day into jeans and a blouse. The outfit gave her a small sense of normalcy. She gave a quick kiss to Toby who meowed apathetically back at her.

Molly grabbed her keys and her purse before making her way out of the flat. She contemplated the two take out options that were in walking distance as she took her first steps down the street. There was the Chinese place that was slightly overpriced but delicious or the-

Molly felt a sharp, stinging sensation in her neck. She gasped and let out a pained squeak. She lifted her arm to find what was causing the pain but her movements were slow and uncoordinated. She felt like a weight was attached to her arm. Her vision began to tunnel and darken and she fell down to her knees. Before she fell face first into the ground, an arm caught her around the waist and began to carry her. Molly thought to yell for help but she slipped into unconsciousness so quickly that she didn't have time to say a word.

* * *

Two men dressed in dark clothes waited patiently in their van. The empty street they were parked on was in a quaint suburb of London. To their left, a door opened and a young, small, dark-haired woman exited the building. The target. The two men departed the van, barely making a sound. The first man removed the syringe from his pocket as he quickened his pace to catch the woman. He came up behind her and stabbed the needle into her neck. He pushed at the end of the syringe, injecting the drug. She reached back in shock before collapsing onto the ground. The two men grabbed the unconscious woman and loaded her in the van.

* * *

**AHHH Molly has been taken! What is going to happen? My goal is to post the next chapter within the month! I felt that we needed to hear a bit more about Molly's feelings on the situation before the action gets started. I hope that you guys liked it! Please review and let me know!**


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